Bloodhoney (Wyrmeweald, Book 2)
Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
From the creators of the Edge Chronicles comes the second installment in the fantastic tale of Wyrmeweald!
Winter is a dangerous time in the wyrmeweald. Once a magnificent wilderness, the home of the dragon-like wyrmes has become an icy wasteland. Brutal battles rage between the evil kith, intent on ravaging all that they can, and the wyrme-friendly kin. Young Micah is safe in a winter den, sheltered from the intense cold, with kin Eli and the beautiful, dangerous wryme-rider Thrace. Thrace aches to leave the den and fly through the skies on her whitewyrme, but Micah knows they are safer indoors. Meanwhile, a brutal assassin approaches, fueled by the invigorating liquor known as bloodhoney and seeking vengeance. Micah and his friends are being hunted—and nowhere in the wyrmeweald is truly safe.
of heavy homespun that stopped just below the knee, long thick stockings and moccasins. Her blouse was blue and long-sleeved and buttoned high at the neck. And when she removed the heavy broadbrim hat, which she hung up on top of the cloak, Micah saw the skulltight bonnet she wore beneath – a starched folded piece of headgear that held, but did not entirely conceal, a mass of auburn curls. Unaware of Micah’s gaze upon her, Cara smoothed down her skirt and, with movements that were graceful and
chest and scampered away. Micah smiled. It wasn’t just the grey-cloaked �Deephomers who ate well through fullwinter, he thought. The previous night, he and Cara had eaten glazed sweetmeat pie, thick with gravy, which they’d mopped up with hunks of freshly-baked buckwheat bread. The mood had been happy and relaxed, Cara laughing and looking into Micah’s eyes with that twinkling look of hers, almost as if daring him to take her in his arms and kiss her in full view of the other Deephomers. But
chambers, in the adjacent sleeping niches, on the stockade steps; there was nowhere for him to escape. And when Micah did speak to him, Eli always put him off. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he would say, fidgeting with his backpack. Or, ‘Not now, Micah,’ as he turned in for the night. ‘In the morning.’ And Micah had begun to suspect that the real reason for Eli’s reticence was that the cragclimber knew he was going to tell him that he was staying in Deephome for good, and did not want to hear it. And
crevices through which Micah would have to climb. He took a deep breath and started to worm his way up. He pushed himself through the first of a series of �vertical cracks, each one narrower than the last. The tunnel walls closed around him like a tightening vice, pressing against his chest and back, making it difficult to breathe. When he feared he could go no further, Micah found a handhold and managed to squirm his way through to a wider crevice above. From here the tunnel snaked up through
the creature was draped over a slab of rock, its great maw gaping open to reveal rows of yellowpearl teeth. Deep empty black eyesockets stared back blindly at him. It was a bull male, seventy summers old by the looks of it, perhaps even older than that. Eli rested a hand on the hard cracked skin of the greywyrme’s flanks. It hung loose over the framework of jutting bones beneath. The creature must have died just before the start of fullwinter, and its body been covered with thick snow that had